


Seasons

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [51]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Light BDSM, M/M, POV Brian Kinney, POV Justin Taylor, Post-Series, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-06 14:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3137522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A season-by-season glimpse into Brian and Justin's fifth year of living in New York together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Winter

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the year leading up to _Celebration_. It might take me some time to complete, so bear with me! I hope you enjoy this first chapter. Feedback is always very, very much appreciated :)

_Winter is here!!!!_

Justin stares at the text message from Gus in pure bewilderment. He finds himself particularly perplexed by the four exuberant exclamation points. Yes, winter _is_ here, but why the hell is Gus so happy about it? This winter has been utterly ghastly so far. New York has been particularly unbearable; not a day goes by without Justin wishing and hoping and praying that the chill will lift, but it refuses to. It's here to stay, apparently, rendering the city utterly Arctic.

Just as he's about to text back, the phone vibrates in his hand and in comes a picture of Gus, Ruby, and a snowman that they've built. Justin smiles to himself and replies: **Cute Snowman. Not-so-cute weather in NYC.**

_Winter is the greatest season known to mankind. Stop being a grouchy old man and enjoy it!_

**I'm not a grouchy old man!**

_Sounds like something a grouchy old man would say :P_

**Watch it, mister, or I might just 'forget' to pack your Christmas presents next week.**

_No you won't. You love me too much. Just like you'll love winter... soon enough :)_

Justin stares at the smiley face (the rather cryptic smiley face, in fact), finding it even more mystifying than the four exclamation points. Before he can contemplate what Gus might mean, an alarm sounds on his phone. Shit. He's supposed to have finished his commissions by now.

Ditching his phone on the counter, Justin walks back over to his easel and stares at the last remaining commission. As he gazes at it, he finds himself struggling to determine how he feels about it. On the one hand, it's done... technically. That's a huge relief. On the other hand, it's not done very well - or, at least, not as well as he would like. That's worrying. If it were for one of his poncy clients who care more about owning one of his pieces than the pieces in question necessarily being very good, Justin might be tempted to leave it as is. But as luck would have it, the client in question is none other than Daph. He wouldn't dare supply her a shoddy piece of work. The trouble is, Justin can't determine whether this piece is shoddy or not. He's been holed up in his studio with it for too long. His perfectionism is probably shining way too brightly. Or maybe the cold is pushing him to rush this one and it's actually not even nearly close to done. Conflicted, he grabs his phone and takes a photo of it to text to Daph. Moments later, his phone rings.

As Justin answers it, Daph greets him, "Have I told you lately that I love you?"

The naked admiration in her tone comes as a huge relief. Laughing, Justin queries hopefully, "I take it that you like it?"

"Of course I like it! I love it. It's absolutely perfect."

"Is it?" Justin surveys the painting dubiously. Daph's 6-month-old god-daughter, Amelia, stares back at him with bright eyes and a big smile. "I don't know. The only babies I've ever painted are Gus and J.R."

And Gus and J.R. were always so up close and personal. They're his family, after all - it was always easy to paint them. Amelia, however, isn't known to him. Justin has only seen photos and heard glowing stories from her adoring god-mother. He barely knows Amelia's parents other than having hung out with Grace a few times when he used to live in Pittsburgh. It's a good sign that Daph loves the portrait but that's no guarantee that Amelia's parents will feel the same way.

"It's perfect," Daph insists with all the confidence Justin wishes he felt. "Grace will love it. You'll have it here by the 23rd, right?"

"Right," he promises.

"Great. I'm transferring you the money now."

Immediately ill at ease, Justin decides to make one last-ditch attempt to ward off Daph's unnecessary offer of payment. "You know, you really don't have to-"

But it's no use. Daph is clearly set on paying. Sounding astounded that he would think otherwise, she asserts, "I do have to! You've already given me a 99% discount. Plus, I know how crazy busy you've been - I wouldn't dare let you work for free at a time like this."

"It's not a prob-"

"Too late! It's done. The money's on its way. Now, I have to get back to work - see you at Christmas, okay?"

"Okay." Grinning, Justin says softly, "Love you."

With wonderful warmth, Daph replies, "Love you too."

On that note, they hang up. After tucking his phone into his coat pocket, Justin wraps his arms around himself and tries to muster up some additional warmth. His final slew of commissions for the year have taken an age to complete; partly because there were so many of them, but mostly because the heating in the studio broke two weeks ago and frostbite isn't exactly conducive to productivity. Even with a peacoat, scarf, and beanie on, the studio is fucking freezing and Justin has been reduced to painting at a glacial pace.

But at least now it's all done. The bulk of the commissions were shipped yesterday, Daph's will be coming back to Pittsburgh with him next Wednesday, and the rest will be collected come the new year. Everything is sorted. Heaving a sigh of relief, Justin starts collecting his things and mentally preparing himself for the walk home. The weather outside is positively frigid but at least he has a night at home to look forward to - hopefully with Brian, if he's able to peel himself away from his insane workload at Kinnetik, and _definitely_ with a hot bath, hot cocoa, and other assorted comforts to ward off the wintry weather.

Justin is about ready to leave when he hears familiar footfalls coming down the long hallway outside. A huge grin has broken out on his face by the time Brian walks through the door. They've hardly spent any time together lately, so to say that Brian is a sight for sore eyes is an understatement of cataclysmic proportions. Elated, Justin hurries towards Brian and wraps him up in a hug.

"Hey," he greets Brian, nestling in to Brian's cozy embrace.

"You're freezing," Brian replies in a very odd tone. It takes a moment for Justin to decipher it - there's concern, and a dash of affection, but also... guilt? Why the hell does Brian sound so guilty?

Pulling back to look up at him, Justin asks, "What's the matter?"

Grimacing, Brian confesses, "I went home early today - I thought I'd set up there for the afternoon and finish up with the Slater account - and, uh, the heating's out."

"What?!" Justin feels his face  _wanting_ to fall, but it's so fucking cold that it's practically frozen into place. "Can't we get it fixed?"

The guilt intensifying, Brian admits, "I tried, they can't come out until Monday."

_"Monday?!"_

"Monday," Brian confirms, wrapping his arms around Justin's neck. "It's okay, though-"

Frozen and frustrated, Justin refutes, "It's not okay! I've been in this icebox all goddamned day - I was counting on going home to a warm apartment. I swear, my dick's about to freeze off."

"Well, we can't have that." Brian smirks and snakes one hand down between them to cup Justin through his jeans. Unimpressed, Justin backs away and sits back down at his workbench.

He folds his arms around himself as tightly as they'll go and demands, "What are we going to do? I mean, besides dying of hypothermia. It was nice knowing you, by the way."

"It's already sorted," Brian says airily, sounding unprecedentedly self-assured. "Don't worry your pretty little blonde head."

"My pretty little blonde head is about to freeze the fuck off," Justin snaps, not even remotely amused by Brian's cockiness. "So what the hell have you done to 'sort' this? It had better be good."

Brian smiles and approaches with a swagger in his step. As he reaches the workbench, he drops his hands to the edge of it, placing them on either side of Justin. In a most seductive tone, he says, "I've booked us a suite at the Palace on Madison. We're staying until we leave for Pittsburgh - that is, if you'd like to join me."

Even though it feels like his face is about to crack in two, Justin can't help but smile. Awed, he echoes, "You booked us a suite?" 

"A deluxe suite," Brian boasts, grinning. "It'll just be us two until Wednesday. I've packed our bags and all the gifts; they're with the driver downstairs. What do you say?"

"Yes," Justin blurts out, beaming. Gushing enthusiastically, he leaps into Brian's arms and repeats,  _"Yes,_ god yes!"

"Then let's go." As Brian helps Justin gather his things, he sours a little and says with distaste, "Like, right fucking now. It really is freezing in here."

*

It's even more freezing as they journey uptown to the Palace. The building that houses Justin's studio is unspeakably chilly, and their slow descent from the top floor leaves Justin shivering. It's made worse when they emerge onto the street, which is currently subject to a ceaseless rush of icy wind. Although Brian bundles him into the car quickly, his teeth are chattering by the time he slides into his seat. The drive up Madison Avenue provides some temporary reprieve from the wintry weather; the car is toasty warm and delightfully cozy. Brian is clearly keen to speed up the warming process - he removes Justin's gloves and locks their hands together, then covers Justin's knuckles with kisses. When they reach the hotel, he can't get inside soon enough - even the few moments between exiting the car and entering the lobby are unbearably cold.

When they reach the room, it's heavenly warm. Justin takes a few steps inside, leans against the wall, and soaks up the warmth. He waits as Brian thanks and tips the busboy, then asks sweetly, "Turn up the heat, will you?"

Laughing, Brian complies. Justin moans contentedly as the temperature goes from heavenly warm to heavenly hot. He grins at Brian and announces, "No more clothes. I haven't seen you out of a suit in days and that is wholly unacceptable - get undressed _now."_

As Brian begins to disrobe, he holds Justin's gaze and says softly, "I know I've been busy. I swear, there's a very good reason for it."

Justin shakes his head and tosses his shirt at Brian. "No need to explain. I know you've had a lot on."

Brian smiles gratefully. "Not anymore - not until January. I'm all yours."

Now that they're both naked, Justin steps in close, so that their bare limbs and chests are brushing together. He kisses Brian gently and murmurs, "And it's just us two until Christmas?"

"Mmm-hmmm," Brian confirms, dipping down to kiss Justin's neck. "The only person who can contact us while we're here is Gus, and that's only if there's an emergency. I also made it very clear to him what constitutes an 'emergency' and we've decisively resolved that it does  _not_ include 'my moms did something I don't like and I want you to attempt to circumvent their authority'."

"But that's his favourite kind of emergency," Justin gasps, feigning horror.

"He'll just have to deal with it." Brian loops his arms around Justin's neck and presses their foreheads together. "I want you all to myself."

"All to yourself, huh?" Justin kisses Brian softly and teases, "Greedy."

"In a few days, I'll be having to share you with countless others who are... shall we say?... undeserving."

"You mean our friends and family?"

"I suppose you could call them that," Brian says dismissively. "Forget them for now - we have a hotel room to break in, Sunshine."

Beaming, Justin agrees, "We sure do."

As he brings his hands to Justin's hips and strokes lightly, Brian asks silkily, "Wherever shall we start?"

"The shower," is Justin's instantaneous, decisive response. "I need you to warm me up."

With evident worry, Brian queries, "Still cold?"

Justin merely grins and vows, "Not for long."

*

True to his word, it doesn't take long at all to warm up. Their sauna of a suite matched with Brian's attentive ministrations proves to be the perfect antidote to the chill lingering in Justin's bones.

First comes their shower, during which Brian devotes his time to warming Justin up inch-by-inch. The hot water rinses the lingering chill from Justin's skin, but it's Brian's dedicated touch that draws out the cold that had settled into his core. His hands all lathered up with soap, Brian massages Justin slowly and with delectable intensity, covering him from top to toe. By the time he's done, they're both flushed pink from the heat of the water, the entire bathroom is misted with steam, and Justin is trembling with arousal. He can hardly see Brian through all the steam - he can only feel him. Brian's arms wrap around him tightly from behind, his lips graze Justin's shoulder, and as he grinds his hard-on against Justin's ass, he growls, "I need to see you."

So off the shower goes and into their bedroom they head. It's all so quick - one moment they're a tangle of limbs stumbling towards the bed, then Justin is thrown onto the mattress, and then Brian is grabbing him and kissing him, lubing him and stretching him, then fucking him hard. _Really_ hard. Justin winds his arms and legs around Brian and tries to steal kisses in between Brian's brutal thrusts. Growling, Brian grabs a handful of Justin's sopping wet hair and tugs it, yanking Justin's head back and baring his throat. Justin groans, his eyes falling shut as he gives in to the sensations: the relentless pounding of Brian's thick, throbbing cock; the possessive knotting of his fingers in Justin's hair; and - _oh, fuck_ \- the slick, hungry slide of his tongue over Justin's neck. Justin would gladly sink into all of this and submerge himself in these sinful sensations, but then Brian tugs at his hair again and orders roughly, "Look at me."

Justin gasps, thrilled by the dominance threaded through the command, and opens his eyes. As he meets Brian's gaze, he's rendered breathless. The desire simmering in Brian's eyes is utterly spellbinding. Justin can't look away. He refuses to. He locks his arms and legs tighter around Brian, drawing him closer, desperately addicted to how this feels with Brian deep inside him, fucking him harder and harder, staring at him with transparent lust. It's as though they're fused together. Pinned by Brian's intense gaze and consumed with pleasure, Justin moans and comes, spilling all over himself. Then Brian comes, groaning and thrusting wildly. As he rides out his climax, his eyes fall shut and his mouth drops open. Justin stares at it: the redness of it, how inviting it looks. He drags Brian in for another kiss, a smoldering one, one that Justin dives into and would happily drown in.

When Brian pulls away and rolls over to his side of the bed, Justin quickly follows. Straddling his sated lover, he grins and challenges, "Is that all you've got?"

"Not by a long shot," Brian retorts. "That was just a warm-up."

Justin laughs and smooths his hands over Brian's slippery chest. "A warm-up indeed. That's a good start, but... what's say we get moving on _heating_ things up?"

*

Things continue to heat up all through Friday night and all day Saturday. Up, and up, and up, until they've covered every inch of the suite. By Saturday evening, Justin has forgotten all about the wintry weather plaguing Manhattan. The curtains are closed, the outside world is entirely obscured. Once they're very nearly exhausted from all the fucking, they relax in the lounge with dinner and drinks, filling up on delicious food and getting very pleasantly drunk. After weeks of them both being consumed by work, Justin is overjoyed to have time alone with Brian. Brian clearly feels the same way, which pleases Justin to no end. They celebrate with drinks, which turns into dancing, which soon leads to more sex. This time, they take it slow. They kiss endlessly, fumble their way drunkenly back into bed, and drag it out until Saturday has slipped away and Sunday has just begun. Then, well and truly exhausted, Justin curls up on top of Brian and falls fast asleep.

Later on Sunday morning, as midday approaches, Justin wakes up. He slips out bed and goes to open the curtains. The sight that greets him takes his breath away - the windows are laced with frost and the city beyond is rendered almost entirely white. There have been patches of snow for weeks now, but nothing like this. Justin presses his hand to the glass and watches tiny flecks of white drift past, spiralling down to join the blanketed snow below. A chill runs down his spine at the sight; it feels odd, gazing out into a frosted landscape from their balmy bedroom. 

Justin wraps his arms around himself and is suddenly reminded that he's naked. He wonders for a moment if he's giving someone a show, given that he's standing right by the window, but the snowfall is thickening - so much so that he can barely see across the street. Anyway, it would hardly matter if somebody  _could_ see him; Justin estimates that 97% of gay Pittsburgh and New York have seen him naked. Now hardly seems like the time to be struck by shyness.

"You're quite the exhibitionist," Brian drawls, making Justin start a little, "Aren't you?"

Justin turns around and laughs, because this has to be the most pronounced case of hypocrisy that he's ever encountered. Brian is lounging in bed on his side, with the covers pooled around his thighs (probably strategically so). Justin drinks in the sight - it's similarly awash with whiteness, what with the sea of pale bedding surrounding Brian, but it looks so much warmer than the scene outside. Brian's hair is falling across his face, his eyes are still clouded with sleep yet alight with affection, and he's positioned in such a way that his swollen cock is front and center.

"You're one to talk," he retorts, letting his gaze roam hungrily all over Brian.

Leering right back, Brian purrs, "Come back to bed."

Justin smiles and makes his way back to bed slowly, quite enjoying the way that Brian is watching him. The clouded sleep is fading from his eyes, quickly replaced by flickering heat. Justin slips into bed, fitting neatly into Brian's arms as he presses his back to Brian's front. Brian embraces him snugly and starts kissing his neck tenderly, then tantalisingly. Justin groans as both of Brian's hands start wandering, slipping and sliding all over his chest and stomach, down his side, over his thighs, deliberately avoiding his cock with obvious taunting. As the word 'please' springs into his mind and threatens to tumble out of his mouth, Justin realises: Brian probably wants him to beg.

Ordinarily, he would. He likes being made to beg. Brian is  _extremely_ talented at reducing him to it, so the journey to pleading for pleasure or release is always enjoyable. What's more, Justin likes seeing, hearing, and feeling what it does to Brian. The first 'please' ignites a smoldering spark in Brian's gaze. The second, third, fourth wring out the most delicious growls and groans. By the time Justin is really  _begging,_ chanting his pleas and matching them with urgent movements (grasping, grabbing; greedily demanding Brian's touch), the spark has turned into a wildfire that engulfs Brian. His eyes fix on Justin, dark pools brimming with desire and promise. When their mouths aren't engaged in clashing kisses or other ravenous acts, Brian is voicing his desire with lust-laced moans, profane growls, and if Justin is  _really_ lucky, the filthiest fucking dirty talk known to mankind. Brian's hands take on a life of their own: weaving through Justin's hair, pulling at it demandingly, groping Justin's ass possessively, spanking it hard, tugging expertly at Justin's cock... every touch is heated, filled with wanting, and infused with transcendent pleasure. 

Begging certainly pays off, and pays off well. But there's something else that's just as rewarding -  _demanding._ Justin isn't in the mood to play the begging game right now. He doesn't want to wait for Brian to wring pleas out of him. He doesn't want some elaborate acting out of cat-and-mouse; it may heighten his pleasure, but it also delays it. No, he wants Brian right the fuck now. So he doesn't beg. He demands. He takes. He reaches for a condom, tears open the foil packet with his teeth, and reaches back to roll it onto Brian's pulsing cock. He squeezes Brian's cock firmly, dragging a long, loud moan out of Brian. Thrilled by it, Justin decides that he can't -  _won't -_ wait any longer. He grabs the lube and slicks some inside himself, eliciting a hissed taunt from Brian  _(you filthy little **slut** ). _Justin feels a flush of excitement sweep over him from head to toe. Since they fucked all day yesterday, he's more than ready. He grasps Brian's cock and guides it to his hole, then thrusts back and impales himself on it. Brian growls and grabs hold of Justin's hips, gripping them as he meets Justin's movements with hard thrusts. Justin turns his head and catches the corner of Brian's mouth in a messy kiss that's all lips crushed haphazardly together and tongues dancing frantically.

The kiss is fleeting, but Justin doesn't mind - Brian's lips soon journey elsewhere, peppering kisses down Justin's neck, opening to suck at it, and then biting down on Justin's shoulder. It's just the right amount of rough to make Justin cry out, which then prompts Brian to grip his hips bruisingly and thrust in harder, and harder, and harder. If they were playing the begging game, Brian would be drawing this out and turning it into something tortuously lengthy, but they're not. He's matching Justin's demanding presence perfectly, taking what he wants hard and fast, feeding into Justin's greediness with brutal generosity.

Justin quickly loses himself in it - the biting, the filthy words hissed in his ear, the intensity of Brian's cock slamming into him, filling him up perfectly. It all floods together and flows rapidly into a climax so intense that Justin screams. He then finds himself rolled onto his front, pressed face-first into the mattress, and ridden even more roughly. Justin reaches for the pillow with one hand and buries his face in it, letting it swallow the sounds of his grunts and groans as he takes stroke after stroke of Brian's cock. He lets his other hand reach back to grope at Brian; blindly, his hand first lands on Brian's hip. Justin slides it further and grabs Brian's ass, urging him deeper, demanding more. As Brian delivers, he comes, groaning something obscene  _(fuck, **fuck** , Justin, fu-u-uck), _then collapsing in a spent heap on top of Justin.

After a few deliciously lazy minutes, Brian rouses and starts to move away. Justin grabs at him and murmurs, "Don't."

Brian sighs contentedly and slumps back down. Justin smiles to himself and yawns a little, feeling sleep closing in on him again. There's no better way to rest than this. He loves the way Brian is draped over him, loves the weight of him, loves the sticky warmth of their bodies pressed flush together, loves that Brian's cock is still deep inside him. He loves being sandwiched between Brian and the mattress; it's so blissfully warm that he never wants to leave.

In no time at all, Justin can feel Brian dozing off - his caresses grow lazy, his breathing slows, and soon he's slumbering peacefully on top of Justin. Deeply satisfied, Justin turns his head to the side and gazes out the window into the softening snowstorm. As it turns out, winter isn't quite so bad - not when they're spending it like this.


	2. Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the encouraging comments and kudos so far, I really appreciate it! :)

The first thing that Brian sees when he arrives home is a lush bouquet of pink and white tulips, consuming almost the entire surface of the entryway table. He knows who they're from before he even reads the note, which is hanging neatly from a satin ribbon and written in curling cursive:  _Happy springtime guys! Promise to visit soon. Love Daphne xoxo_

Smiling fondly, Brian turns his attention to the other note lying beside the vase of flowers. It's not nearly as pristine as Daphne's - it's scrawled messily on the back of an old receipt. Every word more rushed than the last, it reads: _B - I'm upstairs. Come and find me? And be sure to bring drinks ;) Love J x_

Brian sets down his briefcase and slips out of his jacket. After unknotting his tie and setting it aside, he takes a moment to stretch and rub the back of his neck. Today was long - far too long - and its exertions are humming painfully throughout his body. As he makes his way into the kitchen, he spots plates stacked in the sink. Guilt hits him: he had to cancel their dinner reservations for the stupid fucking conference call with one of the Pittsburgh clients (and, even more regretfully, one of the more obnoxious ones who frequently makes Brian want to tear his hair out). Apparently this resulted in Justin eating leftovers all alone, and not even for the first time this week. It's anybody's guess as to how many times it's happened this month. Ever more wearied, Brian grabs a bottle of wine and his keys and heads up to the roof.

As he ascends the stairwell and opens the door to the roof, Justin calls out, "Over here."

Brian follows the sound of his voice over to the eastern wall. Justin is sitting with his back to it with his sketchbook in his lap and a pencil grasped tightly in one hand. Brian closes the stairwell door and heads over, feeling the crisp spring breeze whisping over him as he goes. The roof looks radically different than he remembers; Justin comes up here year-round, so long as it's not raining or snowing, but Brian refuses to unless it's truly seasonable. Tonight is a little too cool for his liking, but he can warm up easily enough with Justin and the wine.

Last he remembers, the roof was empty except for a couple of benches and ashtrays. Now there are plants everywhere: trees growing in every corner, potplants bordering the entire northern wall, and there's some sort of flowering vine spreading over the eastern wall. Honeysuckle, maybe - its scent is everywhere as he sits down next to Justin. Brian kisses him and eases in close, instantly feeling warmer. As he watches the breeze rustle through Justin's hair, Brian asks, "How long have you been up here?"

"A while. It's okay, though - I like it up here," Justin says, gazing around the rooftop. "Especially since Matilde started gardening."

"Matilde?"

"She lives in the apartment above us," Justin supplies, smiling and shaking his head at Brian. "I introduced you to her once in the hallway."

Brian shrugs, unable to place the name. "You're not supposed to get to know your neighbours here. I'm pretty sure they can kick you off the island for shit like that."

"I hope not," Justin laughs. "I like it here. And I like Matilde. The other people who live here can fuck off, but she's nice."

Brian reaches and plucks at the cotton of Justin's blue v-neck, then peels it back slightly to reveal the love-bites he left last night. He smirks at Justin, who merely smiles and chuckles a little as they eye the purple marks. Brian leans in and kisses one, then the other. As Justin shivers slightly under the soft kisses, Brian murmurs, "I'm sorry about dinner. Work's been kicking my ass lately."

Justin shrugs. "We'll make it another night. Whenever you're free is fine with me."

"Saturday okay?"

"Saturday would be great."

Brian kisses Justin's cheek by way of thanks and then turns his attention to Justin's sketchbook. "So what are you working on?"

"Ideas," Justin says with a sigh. "I can't say with any certainty that they're any good, though."

"Why wouldn't they be?" Brian reaches for the sketchbook and Justin hands it to him. As he thumbs through the pages, he gazes upon sketches of the city: their street, their favourite bar, a hoard of commuters descending into a subway station. And then there's sketches of loved ones: Gus reading, Daphne grinning, Deb laughing. He smiles and hands the book back to Justin. "They're brilliant, as always."

Justin sidles closer and leans against Brian's arm. "They're the same old shit though. I could draw this stuff all day, but it's not going to get me anywhere. Everyone's waiting for something big. Not only that, but something better, too."

"And?"

"And I don't know if I'm going to be able to deliver." Justin swallows, then confesses, "That last collection... that was my moment. I'm still getting emails and letters from all around the country - some from around the world! - about that collection. It was the most meaningful work I've ever done, it was the best work I've ever done... I don't know if I can top it. I don't know if I want to. But if I want to stay 'relevant' and 'successful' or what-the-fuck-ever, I have to. That's how it works: I'm not allowed to have my moment and call it a day. I'm supposed to have my moment, use it as a stepping stone, and then move on to the next moment, which has to be far superior."

Sensing that now would be a good time for alcohol, Brian grabs the bottle of wine and unscrews the top. He hands it to Justin silently and watches him take a huge swig of it. After taking it back, Brian takes a good drink from it as well. It's not unusual for Justin to fall into spells of disillusionment with the art world, but Brian can't recall him ever sounding as resentful as this. Concerned, he asks, "Do you still want this?"

"I do," Justin murmurs, lovingly tracing his fingers over the sketch of Deb. "I love this. As much as I might bitch about certain parts of it from time to time, I still want it."

It's a relief to hear Justin respond so swiftly and with such certainty. Brian's concern begins to fade; as he continues quizzing Justin, he does so with curiosity. "What do you love about it?"

He imagines that he already knows the answer to this, but that doesn't really matter. It's been such a long day - Brian can't fathom a better way to ease into a restful evening than by listening to Justin talk about his work. Over the years, he has grown addicted to the passion that Justin demonstrates for art and all its incarnations. Whether Justin is painting or sketching, or touring galleries, or talking about art - it doesn't matter. It's all addictive. It's enthralling, really, watching Justin's face light up and hearing his electric enthusiasm. As Justin begins to answer Brian's question, Brian leans in and listens with reverence.

"I love that I get to create stuff every single day. I love that that's my job. I love that people are willing to pay for my work - not just that, they're willing to wait for it. Ever since that show opened, I've had a waiting list for commissions. A  _waiting list._ And I love most of the people on it! They're there because they love my work and they want to own it." Justin sighs again and rests his head on Brian's shoulder. After a small spell of silence, he continues, "I love that people reach out to me. I've lost count of how many emails and letters I've received now... and some of them are so intimate. It's like, these people went to a gallery or read an article and saw my work, and they decided to reach out and trust me. I can't get over that. I don't want to. I know it's greedy, but I want that for the rest of my life."

"It's not greedy. You deserve that. You've earned it." Brian wraps his arm around Justin and cradles his head in his hand. As he strokes Justin's hair softly, he asks, "Which letter meant the most to you?"

Brian is keen to hear this answer to this; it's a question that he hasn't asked before. Justin thinks for a while, then says quietly, "There was this boy who wrote to me a few months back. He was from Montana. He's, like, fourteen, and terrified to come out. It's not an option for him, apparently. He wrote his entire life story down and finished by saying that my portraits gave him strength. That he looked at them and felt like he belonged."

After taking a shuddering breath, Justin murmurs, "Nobody knows who this kid is other than me. He said I was the only person he trusted. I wanted so badly to write him back... but he said he couldn't give me his home address and that his parents wouldn't let him have an email account. There's no way for me to be there for him, I... I don't know."

It takes some time for Brian to figure out what to say to that. There's probably nothing he can say. At first, in lieu of words, he nuzzles the top of Justin's head and weaves his fingers through the soft blonde strands. He's pleased when Justin responds by cozying in closer. As Brian kisses his temple, he finally lands on what ought to be said. "Do you think that kid is going to give a shit if your next collection doesn't meet up to the art world's pretentious fucking expectations? Do you think I will? Or Gus, or Deb, or Daphne?"

Justin tilts his head up and blinks at Brian. Brian kisses his brow and continues, "I don't care what the art world thinks of your work. It was brilliant before you were ever a part of this scene, and it will be brilliant whether you keep going down this path or not. _Fuck_ what they think of you."

A small smile tugs at Justin's lips. "I know. At the end of the day, I want to paint for me. I want my work to be meaningful to me and the people I love. I want to say fuck the critics and the entire prestigious, pretentious fucking art scene, but at the same time, they're my bread and butter. What if I end up some destitute has-been?"

Brian snorts. "You won't, but I know how you love a contingency plan, so if that were to happen... there's always a place for you at Kinnetik."

"Always?"

"Always."

"I'll drink to that," Justin says with a smile. Brian hands over the bottle and lets him take another drink. Once he's had his fill, Justin sets it down and leans in to nuzzle his nose against Brian's. "Thank you. Really. I'm going to keep trying at this, though. Maybe my next great idea is just around the corner."

Glad to hear optimism woven throughout Justin's every word, Brian smiles and agrees, "It may well be."

As Justin returns to his sketchbook, Brian watches in quiet fascination, observing every mark made on the page. It's the rooftop basking in springtime sunlight, with cherry blossoms flowering from over by the southern wall. Justin smiles and explains, "Matilde was wondering what it would look like - she wants to fill in that wall by next Spring."

"Hmmm," Brian murmurs, too fixated on Justin's illustration to really register what's been said. As he kisses Justin's shoulder, he notices a dusting of orange pollen on the nape of Justin's neck. He grazes his index finger over it, wiping it clean in a single, gentle stroke. Justin turns and dazzles him with a grin. Drawn in, Brian cups Justin's face in his hand and brings their lips together in a tender kiss. He can taste wine on Justin's tongue and finds the scent of blossoming honeysuckle lingering all over Justin's hands. It's so soothing and sweet that Brian almost feels light-headed. Bit by bit, the stress of his day leaves him. It unwinds within him smoothly, diminishes, then vanishes altogether.


	3. Summer

The streets of Soho are dense with summer heat as Justin journeys home. They're almost deserted as he winds his way through them, but the summer heat is a constant companion. Even at this very late hour, there is a persistent humidity lingering in the still air. It creeps and crawls over Justin's skin. Overheated, he licks at his lips and peels his t-shirt away from his damp chest. Fortunately, home isn't far now - he can see their building a few blocks away. It's like an oasis nestled in the heart of these hot, sticky streets. As soon as he reaches it, he breathes a sigh of relief. His night out has been incredibly fun, but it's always good to be home again. 

Although he'd normally take the stairs, Justin finds himself too hot and wearied to climb the few flights up to their floor. He drags himself into the lift and sags against the mirrored wall, sighing happily as the cool glass presses against him. He watches the numbers flash and smiles as the lift stops at their floor.  _Home sweet home._  


It's instantly made sweeter when Brian greets him at the door. Justin grins and grabs Brian's t-shirt so he can drag him in for a kiss. Brian moans slightly as the kiss flourishes; it starts as a light graze of their lips and then sprawls into something greedier. It doesn't stop until Justin is forced to pull away to take a breath. When he does, Brian asks softly, "Nice night?"

"Yeah." Justin smiles. "You?"

"Good," Brian shrugs, "Not as good as yours, though, I bet..."

He grabs Justin and hauls him inside. After shutting the door, he presses Justin up against the entryway wall and kisses him again. This time, it's a handful of quick kisses, punctuated by Brian flirtaciously guessing what Justin got up to.

"You went out drinking..."

Justin nods and smiles as Brian kisses him again. Another kiss, another guess: "You had shots of tequila..."

"Mmm-hmmm," Justin murmurs. He can still taste the tequila, too, and he can still feel its rush crackling through him. It's nothing compared to Brian's kisses, though. The rush from those is incendiary. 

"You smoked," Brian guesses, chuckling, "A  _lot."_  


"A little," Justin protests, grinning, knowing it's in vain.

Brian smirks knowingly, kisses him again, and repeats with certainty, "A  _lot,_ Sunshine."

"A lot," Justin concedes, moments before Brian tastes him again.

"You danced,"  _kiss,_ "With a lot of hot guys,"  _kiss, kiss,_ "And you sucked one of them off."

"I did," Justin confirms, licking his lips. 

Brian kisses him, harder this time. "On your knees, at the back of the club, like the filthy little thing you are?"

"You're one to talk!" Justin laughs. "You can tell all that from a kiss?"

"No," Brian chuckles, "But history is as good an indicator as any. Plus, your jeans are quite the giveaway."

Justin glances down and curses; the knees of his jeans are dirtied with black dust. "If they ever clean the floors in that place, I think I'll die of shock."

Laughing, Brian touches his thumb to Justin's lower lip and massages it gently, then drags it down, peering inside at Justin's tongue. His words rough with arousal, he asks, "How was his cock?" 

"Big," Justin says, grabbing Brian's hips and pulling them flush to his. Grinding their erections together, he further supplies, "Not nearly as big as yours, but big all the same, and gorgeous too. I took him all the way down my throat and sucked him off until he shot his load into my mouth. He said he saw stars."

"I don't doubt it." Brian grinds harder, steals another kiss, then demands, "And did he return the favour?"

"He did," Justin says, his voice catching slightly as Brian swoops his head down and kisses the hollow of his throat. "He pushed me up against the wall-"

Growling approvingly, Brian interjects, "Like this?"

"Rougher," Justin says, laughing as Brian's competitive streak comes out to play; he pushes Justin against the wall so hard that it almost knocks the breath from Justin. There isn't even a sliver of space left between them, know. Justin soaks it up: the way their bodies are crushed together; the hot, sticky, dirty possessiveness of it all. As Brian grinds his cock against Justin's even harder, Justin continues, "He pushed me up against the wall, unbuttoned my jeans, took my cock in hand, and gave me the best goddamned handjob of my life."

The grinding comes to a very abrupt halt. That's the first thing that Justin registers - that Brian has stopped for some unknown reason - and then he catches a flash of an appalled look on Brian's face.  _Then,_ at long last, he registers what he's just said.

"Brian," he says, as shocked with himself as Brian clearly is with him, "I didn't mean-"

"You did," Brian cuts in, backing away. His face worryingly blank, he arches an eyebrow and mutters, "Well, it seems I've been bested."

"You haven't!" Justin's weak protest falls on deaf ears. Brian clearly isn't listening; he's simply staring at Justin, still looking mildly appalled. Then, as Justin is halfway through another pitiful denial, Brian turns on his heel and stalks off down the hall.

Justin curses, wanting to kick himself, and follows in a rush. Brian has absconded into their bedroom and is storming around in the walk-in closet in a huff. Though he's tempted to try and resolve this with a very generous helping of affection, Justin senses that Brian would prefer to be given some modicum of space for the timebeing. Leaning against the doorframe, he pleads, "I didn't mean that he was better than  _you,_ I only meant-"

"I swear to God," Brian snaps, glowering at Justin, "If you try to tell me that it's better with me because of 'our undying love for each other' or anything similarly sentimental, you'll be lucky if I make it into the bathroom before I throw up. And then I won't fuck you for a whole week, and even then, not until you've apologised extensively for daring to say something so utterly nauseating."

Feeling defeated, Justin falls silent. He watches Brian carefully, monitoring him for signs of hurt. Fortunately, Brian doesn't seem wounded - his pride may be a little dented, but ultimately he seems more outraged than anything else. Justin thinks maybe he can work with that... he only has to figure out how.

But before he can even attempt to hatch a plan, Brian shoots a filthy look his way and barks, "Go and get undressed and get into bed."

Justin's jaw drops - he was sure sex would be off the table after his stupid comment. And what a stupid comment it was! _It may well be award-worthy, it was so fucking stupid,_ Justin thinks, still seriously tempted to kick himself several times over.

"Are you fucking listening?" Brian demands hotly. "Go and get undressed and get into bed. _Now_."

Still somewhat shocked, Justin asks, "Really?"

"Really," Brian grinds out. "You think I'm not going to defend my title? Get undressed. Get into bed. Right. The fuck. _**Now."**_

Justin obeys without any further delay. He rushes towards their bed and strips out of his clothes, peeling the slightly damp fabric away from his sweat-slicked flesh.

As he's sinking in amongst the silky sheets and plush pillows, Brian calls out, "Exactly what was it that was so fucking magical about this handjob?"

"Brian," Justin says, sitting up. "It was good, but seriously, when it's you-"

"Don't give me that clichéd bullshit," Brian all but snarls. "I asked you a question. Answer it."

Sighing, Justin collapses back against the pillows and stares at the ceiling. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Out with it." Then, in a snide mutter: "And don't fucking coddle me."

"It was intense," Justin recalls, as he closes his eyes and imagines it all over again. "He was edging me for a while. You know I like that. And he was doing these things with his hands and his fingers... he said he'd been on tantric retreats with his ex."

"Tantric retreats," Brian repeats in a mocking tone. "How exciting."

Justin groans, pulls himself up on his elbows, and calls, "Not as exciting as-"

"Shut your mouth." Brian emerges moments later with one of his glossy leather belts. He takes it in both hands and snaps it.

Justin shudders at the sound of the leather cracking. Slightly shocked, he asks, "Are you going to...  _belt me_ because I said that guy's handjob was better than yours?"

His brow furrowing, Brian queries, "Do you want me to?"

"I think I'm more partial to spankings than beltings," Justin murmurs, eyeing the black leather with trepidation. He takes a breath, then swallows. The thought of the leather snapping across his ass is kind of intimidating, but the thought of being across Brian's knee is always exciting. The image he has of Brian raising the belt and bringing it down in one quick, harsh stroke is enlivening. Then terrifying. Then deeply, toe-curlingly arousing.

Smirking, Brian approaches slowly, holding the belt taut between his clenched fists. He slips into bed, straddles Justin, then brings his hands to Justin's shoulders. A thrill chases through Justin as the belt presses firmly across his chest. Brian leans in and whispers, "What's the safe word?"

"Gummy bear," Justin says, promptly dissolving into giggles. Why Brian let him choose their safe word at age seventeen is beyond him. He can still remember blurting it out impulsively like an idiot and blushing like crazy. Daphne has never let him hear the end of it. That's only fitting - he blurted out 'gummy bear' mindlessly because it had been their study snack of choice earlier in the day.

Justin hears a chuckle slip from Brian's lips and looks up to see laughter lit up in Brian's gaze. He lifts the belt from Justin's chest and laughs, "I'm not going to  _belt you,_ you twat. I am, however, going to use it to tie you to the headboard."

"Oh," Justin laughs, covering his face to hide his blush. "Fuck, you freaked me out!"

Once their laughter has subsided, Brian kisses Justin and asks gently, "What did I tell you the first time we did this sort of thing?"

"You're always safe with me," Justin recalls, feeling a strong tug of fondness.

Brian smiles and repeats emphatically, "You're always safe with me."

As Justin relaxes back against the pillows, he gazes at Brian and smiles. He remembers being seventeen, desperately in love, and beyond excited at the prospect of being tied up and fucked by Brian. He was a little nervous, too, but he put on a brave face and refused to let it get to him. Of course, Brian saw right through that little act. It was the first time that Justin ever sighted an entirely tender, openly loving look on Brian's face. Then it got infinitely better - Brian leaned in close, kissed him, and promised with shining sincerity, _"You're always safe with me."_ With that, Justin fell even harder in love.

He almost laughs, comparing his lovesick self then to his even lovesicker self now. As he stifles it, Brian snaps the belt again, grabbing his attention.

"Arms up," Brian orders, "Hands together."

Justin instantly complies. He smiles at Brian as he winds the belt around and around Justin's joined wrists and a section of the headboard. Once secured, Justin tugs on his restraints to test them. They hold fast. Brian's smirk grows. He then reaches across to the nightstand where one of his ties is lying, wound up neatly. Anticipation building within him, Justin watches eagerly as Brian unspools the indigo silk. He then takes one end in each hand and pulls it taut, like he did with the belt. Even though the silk doesn't crack like the leather did, the fainter sound thrills Justin. He smiles at Brian, but Brian only raises his eyebrows in a cryptic response.

"Close your eyes," he says. Once Justin does, he feels the silk brushing over his face. As it settles over his eyes, Brian's hands slip around to tie it at the back of his head in a firm knot. A shiver runs down Justin's spine, beginning when Brian's fingers thread through his hair and intensifying as Brian's lips brush over his. In a whisper, Brian orders, "Stay still."

Justin nods, unsure as to whether he's permitted to speak. They played a game similar to this a few weeks ago, wherein he wasn't allowed to make a sound or come until Brian said so. It was an utterly torturous exercise in self-restraint, so much so that it was almost painful. But when Brian finally whispered  _'now'_ in his ear, the sense of release was euphoric. 

As though he's read Justin's mind, Brian laughs and murmurs, "You can talk. You just have to stay still."

"I wasn't sure," Justin admits, gasping as Brian circles a thumb around his left nipple.

"I want to hear you beg," Brian says in a wolfish tone; though he can't see him, Justin can clearly picture teeth flashing and eyes glistening. It sends another shiver racing down his spine, lightning-quick.

But Justin isn't going to succumb that easily. With an edge of insolence, he retorts, "Who says I'm going to beg?"

Brian laughs - it's quiet, yet dark and deep, all at once. As his thumb strokes down Justin's neck and his knuckles graze Justin's collarbone, he promises calmly, "You'll beg."

And then he's gone. Justin is disappointed to feel Brian swiftly slip away; he instantly misses his weight, his warmth, his closeness. He waits for Brian to return, expecting for it to be imminent.

It's everything but.

With the tie blindfolding him, Justin loses sense of time. He isn't sure how long he's left waiting - he only knows that it feels like an eternity. As he waits, what was once a small seed of anticipation burgeons within him until it's all-consuming.

With his vision obscured and time lost, Justin falls back on other senses. As time slips by unquantifiably, they heighten dramatically. There's a bedroom window that Brian always leaves open in the summer and through it floats the slightest of breezes; Justin can feel it tickling him as it brushes over his toes, his knees, his thighs, then - most frustratingly - his cock. It comes rarely in short bursts, leaving him hyper-aware of its absence. In between brushes of breeze, he finds himself hotter and stickier than ever. The heat and the anticipation conspire to make him sweat even more; he can taste the tang of sweat on his lips every time he licks them and he can smell the scent of his night all over himself.

He licks his lips again, hoping it will prompt some telling reaction from Brian - a moan, perhaps, or maybe a little bit of movement. Justin has no idea  _where_ Brian is or what the hell he's doing, but he knows he's close. He can feel Brian's eyes pinned to him. Of all the sensations to which Justin is currently attuned, that one is the most persistent and pervasive. It's also setting off a whole host of other sensations; it's heightening the consuming sense of anticipation, it's making his cock throb with escalating intensity, and it's inspiring a maddening feeling of restlessness. Justin craves more from Brian than just his gaze, but that's not going to happen with him just lying here like this. Brian wants him to beg, of course, but Justin isn't ready to give in yet.

Instead, he bites his lip. As he sinks his teeth into his lower lip, feeling a soft bloom of pain where they come to rest, Justin tries not to smirk. Lip-biting is one of his pet tactics where Brian is concerned. Lip-biting often results in him being thrown up against or on top of whatever surface is most readily available and then being thoroughly ravaged.

But this time, no such results are seen. Brian - wherever he is - remains totally silent and still. Justin wriggles around a bit, thinking that might prompt a reaction. It doesn't. The restlessness morphs into nervousness. As his arms begin to ache slightly, Justin swallows and calls out, "Brian?"

There's no response. Were it not for the distinct feeling of being watched, Justin might be tempted to believe that he's alone in the room. But Brian wouldn't do that. His words ring in Justin's mind:  _You're always safe with me._ As they echo, they offer Justin solace. He feels slightly less frustrated by the whole situation. Still, though, he's bound to the headboard, blindfolded, rendered immobile and sightless with a massive hard-on. If only Brian hadn't bound him so carefully, then he might be able to seek out some release.

That's what he did the time before last. Brian left him waiting too long and Justin grew intolerably impatient. The cuffs that Brian had fastened around his wrists had a fair bit of give between them, allowing Justin to roll over onto his front and grind against the mattress to find some release. This inevitably resulted in Brian punishing him  _("I think a spanking might be in order, Taylor"),_ but that had been Justin's plan all along. He came even harder during the spanking, all whilst wondering whether it had been Brian's plan too.

But there won't be any of that tonight because the belt has him too tightly bound to the headboard. Justin wriggles and wriggles, but there's nowhere for him to move. Finally, he gives up and stays still. Maybe following Brian's command will see some results.

Alas - it doesn't. Time for plan B. Although he's disappointed that he won't get to see the look on Brian's face, Justin decides to give in and beg a little bit. He licks his lips, drags his teeth over his bottom lip, and begs softly, "Please?"

This plea is met with complete silence. The anticipation is threatening to devour him, now - it really feels like it might chew away at him from the inside out. Justin arches his hips up and begs again. He flexes his arms, arches his hips, and gasps another plea as his cock starts to drip precome. Then, just as Brian's name is on his lips, the floorboards creak.

Justin freezes. He's so disoriented that he can't even tell where the fuck the sound came from - was it over by the door? The windows? The closet? He tries to figure it out, but it's a mystery.

As the summer breeze washes over him again, a little stronger this time, Justin feels a different tickle against his neck. It's markedly different to the breeze - it's hotter, softer, and definitely coming from a different direction. The breeze stills and it happens again: Brian's breath brushes over his neck. Justin drags in a shaky breath of his own, feeling dizzied by desire as Brian leans in closer, and closer, and closer. He can feel the heat emanating from Brian's body. He can smell Brian's enticing scent. It's intoxicating, but it's not nearly enough. Not even close.

Then Brian's lips press against Justin's pulse-point.

"Oh my god," Justin cries out, suddenly awash with pleasure. Brian's kisses are light and sweet, but they feel sinfully good after such a long spell of waiting. They're soon joined by Brian's left hand - it rests delicately on Justin's chest, right over his heart, brilliantly warm except for the cooler press of his ring. And there his hand stays as Brian continues to kiss Justin's neck. Justin counts fourteen beats of his pulse before Brian moves his hand. On the fifteenth pulse, he begins to slide it down Justin's torso. By the nineteenth, he's stroking over Justin's belly. By the twenty-fourth, he has bypassed Justin's aching cock and is caressing Justin's thighs. The kisses continue lightly and sweetly, only they move from Justin's neck to his jawline. Justin is torn between delirium and frustration - on the one hand, everything Brian is doing is utterly blissful, but on the other, it's not going to make him come. He needs to come. He needs it badly. 

So, again, with heightened need, he begs. "Brian,  _please."_

"Please, what?" Brian asks, in an infuriatingly naive tone.

"Please touch me."

"Touch you where?"

"You know-!" Justin stops short; snapping isn't going to get him anywhere. He sighs and demands with desperation, "My cock. I need to come... I need  _you_ to make me come. Please."

When this fails to deliver any results, he says please again. This achieves exactly the opposite of what Justin had hoped: Brian stops touching him altogether and leaves. This time, Justin definitely hears him leave the room.

At first, he's outraged. It's on the tip of his tongue to yell something unbecoming at Brian - possibly something that directly addresses what a gigantic fucking cocktease Brian is. The summer breeze whisps over him again, warmer this time, tickling his tortured flesh. It's desperate to be touched, and touched properly. Justin groans and arches up again, and as he does, Brian's hands grasp his hips and push them back down.

He almost cries out. He doesn't know when Brian returned or how the fuck he managed to do it without making a single goddamned sound. Justin decides to put it down to Brian's almost supernaturally adept abilities in the bedroom. It doesn't matter, anyway, since Brian is now grasping his cock. Justin throws his head back and moans, long and loud. Brian's hand is hot and slippery with something - oil, probably - and it's  _finally_ in direct contact with Justin's dick. Fuck edging and fuck tantric retreats - this is so much better than that. Brian strokes him slowly at first, taking a detail-oriented approach that sees every inch of Justin's erection thoroughly attended to. It doesn't last, though - as Justin continues to babble delirious praise muddled with continued pleas, the strokes accelerate and Brian's technique grows messier. Justin groans as Brian reaches the perfect pace- the one that will bring him off quickly. He arches his hips up, urging Brian to keep going, desperate to come... and then Brian stops.

Justin very nearly sobs with frustration, but then Brian is straddling him again and kissing his neck and smashing their mouths together. He wishes he could grab at Brian and wrench him closer, but it's impossible. So Justin does the next best thing. He kisses back twice as hard, which drives Brian wild. He moans into the kiss and then gives Justin _exactly_ what he needs. Brian brings their cocks together, grasps them with his oil-slicked hand, and strokes them firmly. Justin cries out; it feels unbelievably good, having Brian tug at their throbbing cocks with practiced precision, while his lips attack Justin's neck with frenzied kisses.

_"Fuck!"_

Justin isn't even sure which one of them says it; maybe it's both of them. All he's aware of is how hard he's coming, and how Brian is still pumping his cock, and how even though he's blindfolded he has a crystal-clear image of what they must look like. As pleasure floods through him, he envisages flesh pressed against flesh, come spilling, then dripping down, down, down. It makes his head swim. Even as his orgasm subsides, Brian is still caressing his cock, only more lightly now, delivering slight aftershocks as Justin writhes amongst the sheets. It feels so good that, for a few moments, everything ceases to be. Justin delves into a place devoid of anything; it's still, silent, and sinfully satisfying. Then, gradually, he returns to the real world. The first thing he notices is his breathing, which is still coming in and out rapidly. Justin licks his lips, swallows, and takes a deep, calming breath. As he does so, Brian loosens the silk tie very gently and slips it away. Justin opens his eyes and meets Brian's smug smile with a big grin. In a deeply satisfied tone, Brian asks, "That good enough for you, Sunshine?"

Still reeling, Justin pants, "That was the best  _ever."_

"Too fucking right it was," Brian says. With both hands, he cradles Justin's face, then kisses him possessively. Justin moans softly as Brian's tongue tangles with his. He kisses back, enjoying the taste of Brian. Brian's fingertips delve gently into his hair and stroke softly, which begins to bring Justin slowly down from his euphoric high.

Once he breaks away from the kiss, Brian begins releasing Justin from his restraints. As he does so, Justin stifles a laugh and says, "You know what made it extra special?" 

"What?"

In his most solemn tone, Justin says, "Our undying love for each other."

All it takes is one look at the affronted expression on Brian's face for Justin to burst out laughing. He laughs even harder as Brian smacks him and scolds, "Brat."

Now freed from his restraints, Justin takes his arms and flexes them. Meanwhile, Brian grabs something from the nightstand, then props himself up against the headboard. Eyeing Justin affectionately, he says, "Come here."

Justin smiles and slips into Brian's embrace, resting his back against Brian's chest. As he tunes in to the  _thump-thump-thump_ of Brian's heart, Brian uncaps a tube of hand lotion and squeezes some out. After rubbing it between his palms, he takes Justin's hands in his, asking gently, "Do they hurt?"

Justin inspects his reddened wrists curiously. They look worse than they feel. He snuggles back into Brian, shaking his head. "Not really."

Nonetheless, Brian takes care in soothing them. He slicks Justin's wrists with lotion and attends to them delicately. As he massages them indulgently, he props his chin on Justin's shoulder. "If you ever run into that guy again, be sure to thank him for me."

"Really?"

"Really." Brian nuzzles against Justin's neck and purrs, "I do enjoy a good challenge."

"I must say, I admire how swiftly you reclaimed your title," Justin chuckles, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. "I left the club, what, an hour and a half ago? And you've already managed to surpass him."

Brian releases his grasp on Justin's wrists, then winds his arms tightly around Justin's middle. "As much fun as it is to fuck other men, I'm not letting some fucking club rat usurp me. I'm always going to be your best."

A smile stretches over Justin's face. He tilts his head and presses the softest of kisses to Brian's cheek. "I don't doubt it."

He watches a slight smile illuminate Brian's face momentarily. Then, eager to soak up Brian's soothing touch, Justin closes his eyes and reclines in Brian's embrace. The steady caress of Brian's fingers against his reddened wrists is truly blissful. Or so Justin thinks - until Brian kisses his cheek and murmurs, "You're my best everything."

"Shut up," Justin blurts out impulsively, whipping around to gawk at Brian. "Actually, wait, no - don't. Say that again."

Brian raises his eyebrows and smiles, then repeats candidly, "You're my best everything."

A strong, knee-weakening rush of pride hits Justin. He had always suspected as much, of course. He absolutely knew for a fact that he was better at certain things (and better by far at that)... but hearing Brian rate him number one at _everything_ is kind of staggering. Beaming, Justin queries, "Really? After all these years, out of all those... well, it must be thousands."

"Tens of," Brian smirks.

"Tens of," Justin agrees. "Possibly more. But out of all of them... I'm best? At  _everything?"_  


"Now you're just fishing, Sunshine."

"Maybe I am," Justin concedes, grinning wickedly, "But I still want to hear you say it."

There's some eye-rolling on Brian's part, but it's short-lived. He gives in quite happily to Justin's requests for further ego-stroking.

"You're my best everything." Squeezing him lightly, Brian teases, "Why do you think I keep you around?"

Justin turns around and eases into Brian's lap. Straddling Brian snugly, he smirks and teases right back, "I thought it was because of our undying love for each other?"

Before pulling Justin in for another passionate kiss, Brian grins and laughs, "Well, that, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this instalment! Spring and Summer were much easier to write than I had originally anticipated, but Fall... well, let's just say I'm still working on that one! Here's hoping it comes together soon. 
> 
> Thanks as always for the encouraging feedback :)


	4. Fall

"So," Cynthia says, as she leans against the doorframe of Brian's office, "Everyone's gone for the day. They hightailed it out of here before you could change your mind."

Once Brian manages to unclench his teeth, he responds as calmly as he can manage, "I'm not going to change my mind. And hey, answer me this: how can _everyone_ be gone when you're still here?"

He diverts his attention from his emails momentarily to arch an eyebrow at her. Cynthia smiles wanly and replies, "I thought I'd offer one last time to-"

"You're not staying. I called a half day, you're taking a half day." Before she can object, Brian silences Cynthia with a severe look. "That's an order."

Her smile grows slightly fonder. "Okay, boss. One last thing, though-"

As she slips out of his office on some mystery mission, Brian returns to scrolling through his inbox. It's very nearly overflowing with emails, half of which are from demanding clients, while the remaining half are from his annoyingly needy employees back in Pittsburgh. He wants to deal with exactly none of them. Eyeing the crowded inbox resentfully, Brian decides to deal with them later. He adds that task to the very long list of things to do that he's been keeping mentally all day. As he does so, growing the list from unthinkably long to catastrophically long, his headache dials up a notch... or six.

"Here we go," Cynthia calls, swanning back in with a tray held in one hand and a gift bag in the other. Brian wonders sometimes if Cynthia has a sixth sense where he's concerned; after all, it would seem that she's pinpointed all of his present cravings. The tray is loaded with pastries and sandwiches, as well as an ice-cold glass of iced tea. Brian eyes the tray and its assortment of goodies with trepidation. On the one hand, he's on the cusp of salivating, it looks so fucking good. On the other hand, he hasn't hit the gym in over a week and indulging himself isn't going to help with that one bit. As he goes to battle with himself, Cynthia sets the tray down and pushes it towards him, urging, "Eat. Drink. It will do wonders for your productivity."

"Thanks, mommy Cynthia!" He chirps, punctuating the forced exuberance with a roll of his eyes. Cynthia merely smiles serenely and sets the gift bag down. Glad for a distraction from the heavenly tray of treats, Brian peers at the glossy silver bag suspiciously. "What is that?"

"Justin dropped it off."

Flicking it, Brian mutters, "Why would he do that?"

Cynthia scoffs. "Because, idiot, he's not going to dump your ass as you so ludicrously theorised this morning. He told me to tell you that he loves you and that you can call him if you need him."

"Fine," Brian retorts, glaring at her. "Now, get out of here, will you? This half day thing isn't going to become a regular occurence, so enjoy it while it lasts."

She nods and disappears again, off to fetch her coat and purse. Moments later, she's back again, smiling at him from the doorway. Before she leaves for the day, Cynthia says softly, "You're a good boss, and an even better boyfriend. Go easy on yourself, Bri."

 _Easier said than done,_ is the first thought to enter Brian's mind. He waits in silence as Cynthia locks up, then returns to staring at the gift bag in front of him. Why Justin has dropped off a gift at a time like this is a total fucking mystery. He doesn't deserve whatever's in this bag - in fact, he's fairly certain that he deserves to be kicked to the curb, and hard and fast at that. After all, his entire working week has been focused on the following: managing Kinnetik's excessive workload, depriving himself and his staff of sleep in the process, and bailing on Justin not once, not twice, but  _three_ times. On Monday, Brian had to cancel their lunch. On Wednesday, he didn't make it home until well past midnight. And this morning, he had to call Justin and cancel dinner. To top all of that off, they've fucked precisely once since Tuesday.

In short: Brian is absolutely sure he now fully qualifies for world's shittiest boyfriend. He's so sick of it that he wants to tear his own hair out. He probably would, if only he had the time or energy, but he doesn't. It's all work, work, work. It's probably going to kill him. At the beginning of the week, he was sure he wouldn't make it to see his fortieth birthday ( _which wouldn't be the worst thing in the world,_ he mused darkly to himself, his stomach kicking at the idea of being forty in a matter of months). By Wednesday, he was sure he wouldn't make it to the end of the month. Today, he's now convinced he won't last the rest of this week. The toxic combination of too much work and too little sex will be the death of him.

Alternatively, there is always risk of his clients hunting him down and killing him if he doesn't start to get shit done. Since he doubts he deserves it, Brian ignores the gift bag and focuses his attention on replying to the alarmingly demanding emails. Halfway through, he succumbs to temptation and attacks the tray of goodies that Cynthia left for him. Like she promised it would, it works wonders. He blazes through the rest of the emails and then gets to work on the Miller account.

He sticks with the account until it's done and dusted. By the time he's finished, Brian's neck is stiff and his shoulders are aching. His eyes are hurting from dividing his attention between paperwork and his computer screen, all under ghastly fluorescent lighting. He stands up, stretches, and heads out to place the finished work on Cynthia's desk for her to handle come Monday. The rest of the office is still, silent, and dark. It's not quite sundown yet, but Cynthia must have turned the lights off and shut the blinds before she left. Brian is quite relieved for the peace and quiet. It's a welcome change after the aggressively hectic week he and his staff have had. He breathes in and out, long and slow, then slips off his shoes and unknots his tie. As he's heading back into his office, he's reminded of the gift bag. It's still perched on the edge of his desk.

 _You finished that fucker of an account,_ he thinks, chewing on his lower lip, _maybe you deserve it now._

He approaches it cautiously, wondering what in the hell Justin has gifted him at an awful time like this. It's not just this week that's been a hellish parade of missed dates and late nights; it's been like this for a while now. Kinnetik's continued ascension has put a dent in his ability to be a good partner. As Brian mulls this over, he practically has to drag himself over to his desk - the guilt is like an anchor, weighing him down, painfully so.

He rifles through the bag and its many layers of red tissue paper. Down the bottom are two boxes - one silver and large, one red and small. Attached to each is a note.

The note on the silver box reads: _For long nights with your team._ His curiosity heightening, Brian opens the box. Inside is a box of macarons, a tin of chocolates, and a bottle of red wine. Smiling, Brian replaces the lid and sets the silver box aside. There's late nights aplenty coming up - it will prove handy soon enough. He then turns his attention to the red box, the note on top of which reads: _For long nights on your own._ Brian's smile twists into a smirk. He hastens to open it and immediately laughs out loud when its contents are revealed: a flask (full of whiskey, he discovers, as he uncaps it and takes a much-needed swig), a smaller tin of chocolates, a joint, and a stack of Polaroids bound with red satin ribbon.

Brian pulls at one end of the ribbon, releasing it in one smooth motion. This reveals the photos in all their glory - or, rather, Justin in all of his. Justin grinning cheekily at the camera. Justin sprawled out in bed, naked, his legs swimming in their silk sheets. Justin's chest, Justin's navel, Justin's thighs - _you fucking tease_ , Brian thinks, as he flicks through the photos, keen to find more revealing shots. They appear soon enough. He feels himself flushing as he gazes at Justin's cock, big and hard, grasped tightly in Justin's greedy hand. The photos don't shy away - they paint a very vivid picture of Justin jerking off, from start to finish. As Brian arrives at the photo of come splattered all over Justin's stomach and chest, he grabs the phone and hits the speed dial for Justin's number.

The instant Justin answers, Brian purrs, "You've been very bad."

Justin laughs and jokes, "What else is new?"

Brian smiles and starts flicking through the photos again. "Well, I'm sorry about dinner. There's that."

Then again, is that anything new? The past year has been a non-stop cyclical nightmare of working overtime and missing out on time with Justin. Another kick of guilt hits Brian square in the chest. Fortunately, Justin is kind enough not to call him on it. Instead, he gently offers some reassurance: "You've apologised enough - more than enough, in fact. Don't worry about it. If you have to work, you have to work."

As he flicks back to the photo of Justin grinning, Brian murmurs, "I'd much rather be with you."

"That's what the photos are for."

"Really? They're not for the Jameson account?"

"Brian!"

"Because I can't think of a better way to use the ad space they bought in Times Square-"

"Don't you dare," Justin warns through a burst of laughter. "Those are for your eyes only."

"Lucky me." Brian spreads them out over the desk and takes one last look. 

As he's sifting them back into the red box, Justin says, "Hey, do me a favour."

"Anything," Brian vows, meaning it. He listens in hope that Justin might say: _Meet me for drinks later tonight. Come home early. Take me away this weekend._ He'll gladly succumb. It would be a fair trade, after all: a kindness for a kindness.

But Justin's request is something else entirely. Very softly, he prompts, "Go to the window and look outside."

Brian walks over to the windows and gazes out. Instantly, he's rewarded. The setting sun is spilling all over the city in streams of molten gold. The windows across the way are gleaming with it; the clouds above are tinged pink and laced with flaring light. Though two of the four walls of his office are lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, Brian rarely looks outside when he has days like these. It strikes him that the last time he saw the sky, it was pitch black. He got to work early enough to beat the sun, and now it's slipping way. As he watches the light continue to fade, he hears Justin prompt him gently: "Now look down below."

The trees lining the street look as though they're ablaze. They are illuminated by the sunset, rendering the red and orange leaves ever more vivid. Brian loses time staring at them. He stays on the phone, listening to Justin's soft breathing, watching the scene in front of him. At first, it's like watching flames crackling. By the time the sun has almost completed its descent, they've reduced to smoldering embers.

After spending all week staring at paperwork, boards, and screens, the sight set out before him is truly welcome. Brian presses his forehead against the glass and continues to watch the light shift and subdue, swifter and swifter with every passing moment.

"Thank you," he murmurs down the phone.

"Any time," Justin says, a smile glimmering in his tone. "I'll see you later. Love you."

Brian closes his eyes for a moment and focuses on the words. "Love you, too."

When he opens his eyes again, the line has gone dead and the light outside has almost vanished entirely. Brian glances upwards and waits. Once it's faded from muted amber to an inky black, he steps away from the window and returns to his desk.

 _Time for a change of scenery,_ he decides. Since his workload is still on the wrong side of backbreaking, he doesn't go far. After stowing the red box from Justin in his office safe, Brian journeys into the conference room and spreads out his work from one end of the table to the other. He eyes it with renewed determination for a few moments, then sits down, and goes in for the kill.

*

Three hours later, he's halfway through and speeding towards the finish line. Brian only notices the time when he hears the chime of the security system letting someone in. After checking his watch, Brian returns to the brief in front of him. He needn't even look up. Smiling to himself, he waits for Justin's arms to wind around his shoulders. Seconds later, they do. He leans back and murmurs a soft greeting. Justin squeezes him and kisses his temple. "Hi there. How's it going?"

"Good." Brian reaches up and touches Justin's hand lightly. "How was your night?"

"Pretty great. Better, now that I'm here." Justin snuggles in closer and nuzzles Brian's hair. "So Cynthia told me you called a half day."

"I did indeed."

"You're a sweetheart," Justin whispers. "Don't deny it - I'm onto you."

With a smile, Brian goes right ahead and tries to deny it anyhow. "I only wanted to avoid them all dropping dead from fatigue, that's all. We'll be back to redefining the term 'overtime' on Monday."

"Right," Justin drawls. "Well, if that's the plan for Monday, we should try to get an early night tonight. Where do you want me?"

After he throws a confused look Justin's way, Justin elaborates, "Put me to work, Mr. Kinney. Let me help you with all this."

"You don't have to do that," Brian says, though he knows it's useless. Justin has that immovable look of determination that Brian has come to know so well. He glances at the remaining work before him and considers what to delegate. "Okay, the Yang account. They're in on Tuesday for a review - I need the portfolios assembled. That would help a bunch."

"Yes, sir," Justin says with a delicious dash of flirtatiousness flung through the words.

Brian makes a note to follow up on that later. He grabs the files and hands them to Justin. "You got this?"

Justin smiles oh-so-self-assuredly and asserts, "I've got this."

"Good boy," Brian teases quietly, swatting Justin's ass. Justin laughs and starts to head out of the conference room. As he's watching him go, Brian is struck by a sudden sense of longing.

"Justin," he calls.

Justin halts in the doorway and turns to look at Brian. "Yeah?"

Brian stares at him, trying to source words that might properly reflect how he feels right now. Sometimes _those_ words - the words that became theirs, over time - simply don't seem sufficient. He feels as though he's grasping at thin air, reaching and pulling at things that mightn't even exist. Since he can't quite find the words, Brian settles for meeting Justin's gaze and offering him a smile.

That seems to do it; Brian watches with silent glee as Justin's face lights up. He's reminded of those trees lining the street, lit up like wildfire underneath the setting sun. Brian holds Justin's radiant gaze for a few moments more, then all at once, they both look away. Brian returns to the drafts in front of him and continues making notes for Jasper. As he progresses through the stack, he tunes in to the sound of the photocopier whirring, and Justin pacing the office and gathering things, and though it's noisier than it was ten minutes ago, Brian feels more at peace than he has all week.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the encouraging feedback as I've been writing and posting this fic! I had a lot of different ideas for each season, many of which didn't make it in this time around. Since I'd love to explore some of those ideas, I'm planning to work on writing and eventually sharing a second seasonally-themed collection of stories later this year, set a few years down the track for Brian and Justin :) Stay tuned!


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